33. The league under pressure
THE LEAGUE UNDER PRESSURE
SENIOR YEAR
P reston checked his phone again at the stoplight.
Nothing.
He’d already texted her twice – nothing heavy, nothing demanding. Just you good? and then, an hour later, hit me when you get this. Both sat there unread, perhaps deliberately. Earlier, he’d asked Cameron between classes if he’d talked to her.
“Nah,” Cameron said, flipping through his notes. “Haven’t seen her since lunch.”
That did something to him. Not panic exactly, but an apprehension. Like when a song slips just out of range and you can’t quite catch it again.
So he drove.
He didn’t plan a speech. Didn’t even know what he’d say. He just needed to see her face, needed to know where he stood before the silence decided it for him.
He slowed as he turned onto her street.
And then he saw her.
Spring was standing by Brian’s car, half in the open door, arms wrapped around him. Not a quick hug, or a polite one. It lingered long enough for Preston to register the way Brian’s hand stayed on her back, the way her forehead rested against his shoulder.
Something hot flashed through his chest.
Jealousy. Confusion. A sharp, stupid ache he didn’t know what to do with.
He pulled over down the block, engine still running.
For a second he considered getting out. Walking up. Saying her name.
But he didn’t.
He watched her step back. Saw Brian say something that made her nod, saw her wipe under her eyes like she didn’t want anyone to notice.
That made it worse.
So, Preston drove off.
No scene. No accusations. Just a quiet decision to leave before he embarrassed himself with feelings he hadn’t sorted through yet.
By the time he got back to the house, the music in his head was gone again.
Mack was in the living room, feet up like he paid the mortgage, scrolling on his phone with a drink in hand. Preston stormed past him. “You look like somebody just canceled Christmas,” Mack said without looking up.
Preston ignored him at first, heading for the kitchen. Mack followed anyway, like he always did. “You and Nairobi get into it?” Mack asked, casual. Too casual.
Preston stopped short. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk about her.”
Mack smiled, slow, knowing. “See? I know exactly what I’m talking about.”
They squared off. Preston was angry and Mack could sense it. “Easy there, young fella. I’m only trying to help, and what you thinking about doing with those feelings ain’t gonna help nothing.”
Preston settled slightly, realizing he had balled his fist without intending to.
“Listen,” Mack said, leaning back against the counter.
“Young love is still love, but it’s difficult.
You’re trying to figure out where you fit in this world, and so is she.
” Preston relaxed fully now as he absorbed Mack’s words.
“I can see why you like her. She’s pretty.
Smart. Talented. That’s a rare combination in any woman.
But she’s young, and so are you. And you, my friend, are on the edge of something big. ”
Preston scoffed. “You sound like my mama.”
“Your mama’s right most of the time,” Mack said easily.
“College is coming. And even if you go to the same schools, you’re gonna find distance.
Different friends, different worlds, and what if we get this music career off the ground before the end of summer?
That means touring, press runs – hell, with your voice, international plays are on the table.
Life got a way of pulling people apart even when nobody does anything wrong. ”
Preston ran a hand over his face. “She was hugging Brian,” he muttered.
Mack lifted a brow. “So?”
“So—” Preston stopped himself. He didn’t even know what he was trying to say.
Mack stepped closer, voice lowering just a notch. “You can care about her. That’s human. But don’t get tangled up like this before you even leave the driveway. You’re about to be a superstar, kid. That life comes with choices.”
Preston hated how much sense it made.
He thought about the unread texts. About their argument earlier. About stages and tours and rooms full of strangers chanting his name.
And about the look on her face when she hugged Brian – like she needed someone who wasn’t halfway out the door.
“Maybe you’re right,” Preston said finally.
Mack nodded, satisfied. “Doesn’t mean she ain’t special. Just means timing is a bitch.”
Preston didn’t answer.
He went to his room and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, phone resting on his chest.
Still nothing.
And for the first time, he wondered not if he loved her, but if loving her was something he was already being trained to let go of.